Dear Diary
how a lifelong habit became a therapy tool
One of my oldest habits is keeping a paper diary. Like many children of the 90s, one of my most prized possessions was a lockable Paws 4 Thought diary (complete with multi-ink pen), in which I scribbled my poetry. One of my earliest diaries is a 1998 freebie that came with Tetley’s teabags: it makes for amusing, tender reading - I marvel at the birth of my cousin: ‘the kid is so small and soft’ I write on 14 March. A few weeks later, I am mortified that my skirt got stuck after swimming and ‘Mrs M and Tina had to help me’.
My Pepysian habit was cemented during my secondary education, when school issued all students with a ‘planner’. Our teachers drilled into us that The Planner was the cornerstone to our future success. We were supposed to write down all our homework and deadlines in these planners, and get them signed by parents to ensure that they were aware of our coursework due dates and any school activities - a requirement that I always felt undermined the whole point of a planner: wasn’t the objective for me to learn how to manage my time? Anyway, my parents trusted that I could, and I did, so each week I forged my mum’s signature, with her permission, and a lifelong habit took hold (keeping a diary, not forgery).
I tried online calendars for a while, and while I do accept Google and Zoom invitations for work meetings, I prefer to have everything written down on paper. I find it more satisfying - and somehow calming - to see my appointments, my plans, my time - laid out on the page, rather than existing as formless obligations floating about in the ether. I also use my diary to draft lists, jot down writing ideas, and engage in reflective longer-form journalling when the mood takes me.
My adult diaries have taken different forms - in my 20s I opted for the A6 Moleskine pocket diaries with a week to view page. I loved the feel of the soft leather and the page quality was good enough to tolerate the Uniball eye pens I favour. I still have a pile of these little black books, with scrawls that immediately bring back to life moments of that era: Secret Cinema to see Ghostbusters; midweek dinners at friends (note to pick up dessert on the way); taking advantage of the Eurostar with weekends away in Paris and Brussels (note to remember ticket printout); boat parties (no notes needed) - alongside more mundane details of work meetings and presentations.
As my schedule has expanded to include the comings and goings of two small children and various family obligations, my diary has also grown. Now firmly in my 30s, I have switched (on the recommendation of a friend) to the A5 Busy B family planner which has a week to view on the left hand page, on which I note any general date-relevant information. The right hand page contains 4 blank columns - I give each one a heading and a dedicated purpose: WELLBEING/ KIDS/ SOCIAL/ WORK.
My ‘WELLBEING’ column is my favourite one, which is why I put it first. It’s a small, significant reminder, that in the fog of family life, work, and responsibilities, that I matter too - maybe it’s okay to put myself first sometimes, even if it’s just on paper. In this column I write down my personal training sessions, exercise classes, therapist sessions, medical appointments, any massages, and the like. If I look at the page and see nothing in that column for the week, then I know something has to change, and I make sure to book something in that will help me take care of myself.
The ‘KIDS’ column is a bittersweet one. I write down things specific to them: nursery closures, costume days, concerts, playdates, vaccination appointments, and sports days, and each one reminds me that each child is their own entity with a schedule and a world beyond the domestic one we share. One day they will stop needing a column in my diary, instead having one of their own. But for now, I keep them close to me on these pages.
I put ‘SOCIAL’ before ‘WORK’ in the headings as a subliminal attempt to reenforce my priorities. Writing is, by its nature, solitary. And so I ensure that my social column is filled with core weekly events (Thursday night takeaway with some of our best friends; Saturday brunch at a cafe-playground with other families) as well as more ad hoc opportunities for socialising, which this year has included lots of eating out (quelle surprise), a candle-making workshop, and even a proper open-air gig(!). It reminds me of the need to see people beyond my family on a regular basis.
‘WORK’ keeps me accountable - I draft notes for what I will work on, note any deadlines, meetings with my editors or publishers. It reminds me too, that what I do does count at work! Because my freelancing often gets squeezed into just a few hours each day, I am guilty of falling into the trap of underestimating the significance of what I do - can it be ‘work’ if it isn’t office based and monthly salaried? My desk is usually the corner table of my favourite cafe. Am I a self-employed fraud? Rationally, I know that this isn’t the case - but it’s a constant effort to keep that taunting ‘PAYE is king!’ inner voice at bay, and remind myself that my work matters and is to be celebrated and centred.
Year in review
As well as these weekly pages, I have a section at that back of my diary where I draft a set of pledges for the year ahead. I revisit this page throughout the year, to remind me of my priorities - sometimes I add notes where I have managed to fulfil some of those intentions along the way. In December, I return to this page to see how my intentions measured up to what I did. Then I write my pledges for the following year. I think of Janus, the Roman god with two faces, looking backwards and forwards, when I do this.
In a world where we are often pushed to look forward to achieving the next milestone, or setting the next goal, we rarely take the time to acknowledge and reflect on what we have actually done: where we have been, who we have connected with, and what we have learned. But it is such a valuable exercise, to actually pause and take stock - not just of the passing of time, but to really ask ourselves what we have done with that time. The end of one year, and the start of another, seems a very fitting moment to do just that.
And so in that spirit, I share with you some of my 2024 reflections and my intentions for 2025:
In 2024…
I learned how to be a mother of two: I grappled with the fear of having to split myself and realised that in fact, it’s the opposite - I multiply myself, my efforts, my love, for both of my children.
I finished writing a whole book! I am so proud of doing this, alongside having a newborn and a toddler. And I’m especially proud that I recognised my need to do this and I made the time and effort to make sure that I did it. It was hard and took sacrifices but I am so glad I stuck with it.
I put myself out there by applying for grants to support my work, and I was awarded them! The Guild of Food Writers Futures Fund was a welcome boost in helping me to finish The Jackfruit Chronicles.
I recognised the need to prioritise my health: mental, emotional and physical. I have re-committed to taking regular supplements and manage my PCOS (more on that in another newsletter…), exercising regularly, continuing with therapy, nurturing the relationships that matter to me and taking a step back from interactions that drain me.
In 2025…
I hope you continue on this journey with me as we discover what the new year has in store for all of us! I’d love to hear more about your reflections and what you are looking forward to.
Wishing you a healthy, happy, and peaceful end to 2024 and start to 2025.
Shahnaz x